The Wayne Scholar
by Irvine Cypher
Summary: Bruce didn't date. He had flings and one night stands, not relationships. but when a Wayne Scholar who went by the name of Clark Kent was sent to live with him, he might reconsider. 18yearold!Bruce, 20yearold!Clark. AU. Lime.


The Wayne Scholar

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><p>Bruce wasn't the type who went out and slept with anyone, but when a Wayne Scholar who went by the name of Clark Kent was sent to live with him, he might just not go back to dating. 18yearold!Bruce, 20yearold!Clark. AU.<p>

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><p>I am so deeply sorry about the mistakes in this. It's the first time I've written a SupermanBatman fic, so I wrote it on AU and feels like it's still so wrong. _ I am very well aware that they're out of character. I apologize for that, too. I'm not even sure if put this in the right category. And I didn't mean to make Bruce a slut but...screw this.

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><p>"So you're the Wayne Scholar they sent to live with me," Bruce eyed what looked like a farm boy, backing up into the room so he could let the master of the house enter. He closed the door gently, and two faint clicking sounds were heard; one from the door closing, and the other from the lock of the knob.<p>

"Yes," the farm boy nodded, nervously. He had no idea why he was nervous when the boy in front of him was obviously younger than him. Maybe it was because his boy, at his age, already had so much power. "My name is–"

"Clark Kent, yes, I know," Bruce went forward, observing Clark from head to toe. Clark was taller by a few inches, and Bruce thought that would indicate also that he was a few years his senior. He had short black hair that was combed to the side, glasses that hid his bright blue eyes, the usual farm boy plaid shirt and jeans with what looked like work or safety boots. The young billionaire raised a brow. This dude needed a wardrobe change.

"Um…well…good afternoon, sir," said Clark, unable to say anything else.

"Drop the 'sir.' I assume you're older than me." said Bruce, moving forward once more, "Call me _Bruce_," he whispered as he circled Clark, once again looking at him from head to toe.

Bruce stood about two steps before Clark, and put a finger to his chest, then trailed it gently down to his navel. His eyes followed his finger. Clark had no idea what Bruce was doing. For some reason, Clark thought Bruce was judging–no, that's not the right word–more like, evaluating him. But for what?

The young billionaire's smirk widened just a bit more as he felt Clark's chest and abs from under the plaid shirt. Clark reddened at the quick touch of his finger. "Well aren't you well toned." He said, moving his hands to the farm boy's biceps. "Well toned indeed," he withdrew his hands and further inspected him, wondering what to do to him and with him for the next year of his stay. "Let's get rid of this, and this," Bruce took off Clark's glasses, and pushed him onto the bed so he could ruffle his hair.

"Wh-what are you–" Clark tried to speak, but Bruce didn't let him. Then he realized he couldn't take his eyes off the person who had given him the opportunity to study at a good school. He was slim, and he looked amazing in the smart casual get up. Clark found Bruce's eyes pulling him somewhere deep, somewhere he hadn't gone before. His hands were soft and warm; they felt like the hands of someone who didn't do any work at all.

Wait, why were his pants tighter all of a sudden?

"Giving you a very much needed make-over," said Bruce, combing Clark's hair back with his hand so it would look more natural, or at least a bit windswept. It looked better. Clark looked better. Clark looked more than better. He looked handsome. "I'll see you at dinner, _Clark_," Bruce winked at him and turned around, headed for the door.

Clark stared at him. How could someone that young have so much confidence? How could someone so young have the power to intimidate people who were older than him? He stood up, and went after him, putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder before he could open the door. "Um, Bruce–"

Bruce grabbed a hold of Clark's hand, and slammed him onto the door. "Are you really as thick as you look?" (1) he asked, moving closer to him. He could tell that Clark was already uneasy.

"I beg your pardon?" Clark looked down at the younger boy whose hands kept him up the door.

Bruce smiled a bit, then lifted Clark's shirt so he could see his belt. "My, my," he chuckled, "Aren't you excited,"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–!" Clark gasped when Bruce started to fumble with his belt. "Wh-what are you doing!"

The younger brunette undid the jeans and released what was begging to relieved. "You're quite the big boy, Clark," another chuckle escaped Bruce's lips, then started stroke the erect length. "Haven't you ever tried masturbating before?" he whispered.

"Stop that!" However, despite all Clark's begging for him to stop, Bruce didn't stop, and even got down on his knees to take the farm boy's length into his mouth. He couldn't even take all of him. Clark winced. Bruce's mouth was so hot, and he felt like he was going to blow his load any second with the force of the sucking Bruce was doing. Was he experienced? "No–! Get off–!" he put his hands on Bruce's shoulders, wanting to push him off, but his body didn't listen.

For a while, the only sound in the room was Clark's heavy breathing. Clark didn't know what to think, only that what Bruce was doing was definitely immoral. But then again, he was, too, since he let Bruce do it.

Bruce bobbed his head faster. He could feel Clark tense, and he knew very well what that meant. A few more moments later, Clark released, and the seed was forced down Bruce's throat. His knees buckled, and he joined Bruce on the floor. "What the hell did you do that for?" he panted.

Bruce wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. "That was fast," Clark didn't seem to like that remark. Then he kissed Clark's cheek. He was so breaking up with Oliver Queen. He was boring. "You're cute. Let's date,"

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><p>(1) Thick, meaning stupid.<p>

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><p>Please review.<p> 


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